Twisted In You_A Twisted Romance

by Rachel A. Marks

  Once we set our jackets down, he takes my hand again and pulls me onto the crowded dance floor, surprising me. After he spins me around I manage to ask, “What are you doing?” Because I’m not sure who this guy is.

  He smiles a brilliant smile that is completely mysterious. “I’m attempting to enjoy myself. Is that all right?”

  I nod and he twirls me around again, leading me in a dance that seems second nature to him. He moves with the music like he’s making us a part of the notes with each turn and dip. How did I not know what an amazing dancer he is?

  His body is so close, his chest grazing mine every now and then, making my brain shut off, making it impossible for me to fight as he tugs my body wherever he needs it. I’m actually dancing like I know what I’m doing for a few steps. And I soon find myself smiling so big, my cheeks ache.

  The next song starts and the tempo slows. Instantly things turn awkward and I miss a step, stumbling into him.

  I release nervous laughter and press my palms against his chest, looking up at his face. But his eyes are serious again, locked on mine. His brow is pinched in confusion.

  My heart speeds up, the beat filling my head, the frantic pulse making me dizzy. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but my voice won’t work. And I can't be feeling what I'm feeling. I can't think about him this way. His grip on my waist doesn't mean anything.

  But as his body begins to move to the music, bringing mine with it, I can’t take my eyes off of his. Until my gaze catches on his lips, his soft full lips—I want them touching mine more than anything right now. They seem to be the only thing I can see.

  He leans closer, our breath mingling in the space between us. His hands slide up my side and a small sound escapes my chest from his touch.

  “You all right?” he asks quietly.

  I give a jerky nod, lying.

  He presses closer. “I’m sorry I’ve been an ass the last few days.”

  I shake my head like I’m arguing, You haven’t been an ass, but the words won’t come. All I want to use my mouth for right now is to kiss him.

  “There’s a chance I can change, though. I’ve done it before.” His lips tilt in a wry smile. “Being an old man has its perks.”

  Yeah, like secretly being an amazing dancer. I wonder why he thinks I’d want him to change. I just want him to be him. I start to ask him what has him so stressed, but the song ends and he quickly backs away, his energy suddenly brotherly again. He leads me to the table where our jackets are, then he disappears into the crowd to get us drinks, leaving me alone to marvel at the last five minutes.

  What the hell is going on?

  Now that I’m sitting here, the bar feels small and loud, thick with body heat. I try to shake the turmoil off and focus on the music and the band. It’s a sort of blues/rock that reminds me of something you’d hear in the Bayou, and a large amount of people in the bar seem to be watching the band, instead of dancing. The audience consists of a lot of music-types with that flannel-tattoo-scruff edge. But as I glance over the crowd, they seem to be very pleased with—

  My brain stops.

  Someone who looks a lot like Fin is three tables over, nodding his head to the music.

  Panic bursts into my veins and I actually consider crawling under my chair. Of all the bars in this huge city, Diego happens to pick this one. Of course. And Fin must feel me staring at him in terror because he turns and looks around. His eyes pass mine, then tick back and lock in.

  Spotted.

  His body language changes from relaxed to tense in a millisecond.

  I send him a small wave. Because there’s no pretending I’m not here right now.

  He looks away and my gut sinks. That’s not a good sign but maybe it’s for the best. I made my choice; I’m worth more than a sex lesson with a guy who can’t recall my name. No matter how good he felt. I have self-respect. He’s not the guy. Even though, looking at him now, in this environment, he seems so sure of himself and so damn cool.

  The set is over and Fin is suddenly standing and walking over to me. He sits in Diego’s chair, and before I can tell him it’s someone else's seat, he says, “So, little miss all-work-and-no-play. I see you took a break.”

  “I’m sorry about this afternoon.”

  He shrugs. “I get it. I freaked you out.”

  I’m not sure how to argue with that. It’s the truth.

  “It’s okay,” he says, “you don’t have to turn pink. I’ll survive. It’s not the first time I’ve scared off a nymph. Just never one as sexy as you.”

  I open my mouth to tell him I'm all screwed up in the head right now and he doesn't have to feel bad, that it's not his fault and I want to hear his side, but Diego comes up, drinks in hand, and the air chills to about fifty below zero.

  He looks down at Fin in his chair like a lion about to swallow a mouse.

  “Oh,” Fin says, realization crossing his features. “My mistake.” He stands, nodding to Diego. “Name’s Fin. Finbar MacNeil. I’m a friend of Verity’s brother.” He holds out his hand.

  Diego sets down the glasses and shakes Fin’s hand, giving him a calculated look. “Diego Santiago. How long have you known Verity?” His tone sounds conversational, but his body is tight with warning. He releases Fin’s hand and moves closer to me.

  Fin doesn’t seem to notice, or he doesn’t care. “Not long. We were getting to know each other. I’m afraid she’s been so busy it’s been tough for me to get a good grip on her.”

  The double meaning isn’t lost on me but I’m hoping it’s lost on Diego. Something tells me, by the way my boss’s smile turns into a smirk, that it isn’t.

  “I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Diego says. “I’ve been keeping her busy at work.”

  Fin looks between the two of us. “Yeah, I can see that.”

  The men stare at each other and I wonder how it’s suddenly happened that I’m drowning in testosterone. “Well, that band was sure good,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Do you know them, Fin?”

  He looks away from Diego to me and relaxes a little. “Yeah, the bassist is a friend. He’s played with me a few times.”

  “I really like them, do they have anything on iTunes?”

  “I can get you a CD.”

  “Great!” I smile and take Diego’s wrist, tugging him down into the chair. “Diego, do you want one too? Weren’t they good?” My pathetic attempt at bringing us all together.

  He settles into his seat. “Sure.”

  “No problem,” Fin says. He studies my face, a hidden smile in his eyes. “You have fun, Verity. I’ll see you ‘round.”

  I wave as he walks away, back to his own table. Diego stares a hole into Fin’s back.

  I turn to Diego and whack him on the arm. “What the hell was that?”

  Diego blinks at me, like he’s trying to clear his head. “I don’t know what that was. I’m sorry. I think this was a bad idea.”

  My heart sinks, wondering what he means exactly. I suddenly feel like I got left out of the meeting where we talked about goals.

  He leans back in his chair. “You should go be with him.” He nods to where Fin is sitting with his friends.

  “I came here with you,” I say, totally perplexed. What the hell's going on right now? This whole night is giving me whiplash.

  “He's the one, right?” he asks. “The guy you slept with that called you by the wrong name?”

  My heart stops and I have no idea how he could've asked me that. Out loud. No skirting, no hiding. “I never slept with him.”

  He runs his hand through his hair. “We should go,” he says, ignoring my answer and rising to his feet, taking a swig of his drink. “I'm not in my right mind at the moment.”

  I take a sip of my drink and realize it’s soda. No help from that. So, I stand and follow him from the bar.

  THIRTEEN

  The air feels perfectly horrible in the car, full of unsaid things. I didn’t think it could get any worse between us, but somehow it has. We�
��re both silent the whole way back to the studio. When we finally pull into the alleyway next to where my car is parked, he starts to get out so he can open the passenger door for me.

  “It’s fine,” I say, opening it myself and sliding from the Mercedes.

  He doesn’t listen, following me to my car. “Verity,” he says, sounding exasperated. “I was a jerk.”

  I sigh and turn to him. “Yes, you were.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “What’s going on, Diego?”

  “I’m just tired, I told you, things have been—”

  “No, I mean, what was that back there? You took me out on a date, you danced with me, acted all touchy, and then you glared at Fin like a jealous boyfriend.”

  He looks at me like he doesn’t understand. But I know he does. Something very weird happened tonight. And it wasn’t all my imagination this time.

  I shake my head with a sigh. “Never mind.” If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to make him. But this is getting ridiculous. “Can you answer one question for me, honestly?”

  He looks suddenly unsure, but he nods. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “Fine. Are you gay?”

  He considers me for a second before shaking his head.

  My insides go cold. “What?” A part of me knew he would say that, but I . . . I can't believe it. He said he was gay—I know he's told me before. “You've lied to me? All this time? I don't understand.”

  “I never lied, Verity. You just always assumed, so I let you believe it.”

  My eyes sting. “Am I a joke to you or something?”

  Real pain fills his eyes now. “No, never. I just didn't . . . I knew you had a crush on me and I didn't want you to think anything could happen between us.”

  It's like he's hit me. I don't know how to process his words. “What? Why?”

  “I’m your boss.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  He stares at me for several tense seconds before he says in a quiet voice. “I won’t cross that line with you, Verity. Never. I can't.”

  The finality of it all is a dagger shoved into my gut. Never.

  “Because you would never be attracted to me.” I say it as a statement, but really I’m lost. How does he see me?

  “You’re young and vital. Any man would notice how attractive you are.” When I stare at him, unable to respond he adds gently, “I have a responsibility to you, Verity. I won’t hurt you, and I won’t cross lines that can’t be uncrossed. So, you need to move past this and remember what the reality is. We’re never going to be anything more than co-workers and colleagues. Or you’ll need to move on.”

  Well, I guess that settles that.

  An ache fills my bones as I study him, his emotions impossible to read. He’s a stunning twenty-nine-year-old man with a successful art business and a mysterious past. Why did I think he would take me seriously as a woman? Why did I assume he'd see me as an equal one day? It’s not as if I’ve shown him that I could be anything more than a ditzy school girl. And it’s not likely I’ll ever be at his level if slinky French lady is any indication. It doesn’t matter that I've had a massive crush on him for three years. He's one of my best friends—I thought he was, anyway. But he was lying to me the whole time? I want to hate him for making such a fool out of me. But I just . . . I can't.

  The realization of how little I really know him is crushing.

  “Goodnight, Diego,” I say, the sadness obvious my voice. Then I open my car door and slip inside, unable to even look him in eye.

  FOURTEEN

  When I wake up the next morning I have a text from Fin.

  Fin: Hope I didn’t muck-up your date. Sorry.

  It was sent last night, around the time we left the bar. I hadn’t looked at my phone.

  Verity: Wasn’t a date. Just friends.

  Surprisingly it’s only a few seconds before my phone pings with his response.

  Fin: Does he know that?

  Verity: He’s my boss. We have a close relationship but he’s more like a brother.

  Fin: If you say so.

  Fin: Wanna go on the lash tonight? There’s a show at House of Blues. I have tickets.

  Verity: Bummer. I have to work. Otherwise I’d jump at it.

  Fin: What time do you get off?

  Verity: Whenever. I have to get some of this project done but I can only work on it after the gallery is closed.

  Fin: Can I bring you dinner?

  I pause and chew on that idea. I want to see him, he was very genuine and nice, even after being ditched then seeing me at the bar with Diego. But after last night I’m not sure I can handle them both in the same room again right now.

  Verity: My boss may not like that.

  Fin: On account he’s just a friend.

  Fin: Dinner for him too, maybe?

  I sigh, feeling caught in the middle. But then I realize: this is my life. What am I going to do, never have a boyfriend because Diego is a big fat liar? I cannot be depressed about this. I have to get past it and finish the piece for the art show so I can take this chance to have my work seen. Then I'll move on in my art and find another place to work.

  My throat aches, thinking of leaving Diego, but my stomach twists thinking of being around him now. All my emotions about him are so tangled. And way too raw.

  It's time to go through the open door in front of me.

  Verity: Okay, come by.

  Fin: Grand.

  Verity: BTW, what’s a “lash”? Sounds kinky . . .

  JADE AND I DECIDE TO do some grocery shopping later in the afternoon. We chat about my painting on the way to the store and I ask her for some advice. I don’t say anything about the mess my mind is in. She doesn’t ask for any love updates, either, which I’m glad about. It’s kind of nice doing normal life stuff and not thinking about it all.

  My previous mission of love tutelage is quickly sinking down the priority list. It’s now outranked by acquiring sanity.

  Jade and I head into the frozen food section and I toss a box of waffles into the cart. She instantly takes them out and puts them back in the freezer. That’s the second time she’s done that. Last aisle it was my box of mac ‘n’ cheese, which she replaced with the organic/gluten-free version.

  “All right,” I say. “What’s going on? Are you on a health kick again or something?”

  She sighs. “I told you, my sister, Emma, is coming to visit. She’s going to freak if we have a bunch of crap-food in the apartment.”

  I forgot about that. Now Jade’s going to be pretending to eat twigs and figs for the next several days to clear out the smell of additives in her skin. You’d think nitrates were cocaine the way her sister talks about it. The apartment turns into organic/vegan/gluten-free central whenever she visits. It’s very upsetting to Jade’s mom, who lives to cook and feed her children meat in many forms. But Emma’s always been a purist. When I stayed with Jade once, at her sister’s apartment before they realized she was sick, I spent the whole time in the bathroom reliving the meals I was fed. I drove through McD’s for a vat of fries on the way out of town to stop the insanity going on in my intestines.

  “Does your big sister still want you to eat like a hippy?” I ask.

  “She lives in Ojai, V. It’s a given. And since she’s been living with Mom again while she’s going through the treatment . . . I just want to make her feel as comfortable as I can while she’s staying with us. She’s lost a lot of weight and she should have food around her that she can eat.”

  My heart sinks. I didn’t think about it like that. “When is she coming, again?” I have no right to complain. I’ll just eat out more.

  “This weekend!” She sounds a little frantic. She wrings the asparagus in her hands.

  I take the mutilated greens from her and set them in the cart. “It’s all right, Jade. She’s only here for a week, right? No biggie. We’ll make her comfortable and she’ll be able to relax for a bit.” />
  Jade takes a deep breath, nodding. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “We’re in this together.” I pick up a carton of eggs, careful to choose the organic ones. “Maybe it’s time you came out of the nitrate closet with your sister? I mean, you can’t let something so silly stress you out so much. It’s not like she’ll disown you. She loves you.”

  “I just don’t want to disappoint her. And I don’t want her stressing about anything.”

  I get why she’s being so weird about everything. But with the way Jade finds things to worry about, she doesn’t need one more swirling around in her busy brain while Emma is here. Especially something as silly as food.

  I move closer and give her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Just remember what your therapist told you: don’t let guilt be your compass.”

  “I’m pretty sure he got that saying from a fortune cookie.”

  “Well, I’ve lived my life by fortune cookies. Wise food, they are.”

  She gives me a doubtful look but there’s a smile in her eyes. “Yes, it’s worked out so well for you.”

  I gasp in fake shock. “I’ll have you know I’m very offended by that true statement.”

  She giggles and we head for the fruit.

  WHEN WE GET HOME I put the groceries away while Jade starts cleaning out the cupboards—even scrubbing the shelves a little. When the last apple is put in place I go back to my room to stare at my tree painting. My heart sinks as I study it.

  It’s all wrong. Shit.

  “Jade, help!” I whine into the living room.

  She turns from her task of kitchen purification. “I’ll be right there. Willow has, like, six boxes of Cap'n Crunch opened at once. It’s insanity in here.”

  She tosses another box of cereal into her trash bag, then comes to my aid. She sits on the edge of the bed and ponders my painting, tipping her head this way and that. Finally she says, “It’s lovely. But sad.”

  “Yes!” I shout.